This blog entry is dedicated to two of the people I love and respect most on this earth; my sister Debbie and my Broman Gary. I love you both. Thanks for always taking such good care of me and for always keeping me entertained. (PS Don't forget Gary, it's called poetic license lol)
The journey of 1000 miles begins with....a hair raising ride in my Broman's Exploder. It's the truth. It seems as if any time I start a long journey it begins in much the same way. I believe the last descriptive scene of a ride with him went like this:“So for me, no trip would be complete without a ride to the airport from my bro-in-law, accompanied by my sister in the front seat gripping the “oh shit handle” and wondering if we are gonna make it out alive. My brother-in-law is the poster child for road rage driving. He has the unique ability to make one shit in one's pants whilst hysterically laughing one's ass off. The assortment of curse words, tempered with a wide variety facial expressions and fist and/or finger waving are, in my mind…priceless.” And so it goes.
On the trip from St Augustine to Ft Lauderdale yesterday the similarities to the aforementioned car ride were apparent. But yesterday, I also became aware of the rather intricate ballet that ensues while my sister watches, and subsequently (whether he likes it or not) guides my broman as he weaves his way in and out of traffic at an alarming rate of speed. Said ballet unfolds in perfect synchronicity. It is a thing of imperial beauty to watch the swan like grace with which my sister, seemingly in slow motion, moves her extremities like wands: pointing, waving or steering, as if the Exploder will ignore my Broman's command, in lieu of magically reading my sister’s body language and respond in kind. One can almost taste the look of consternation on Broman's face as he brakes just seconds later than Debbie would have preferred, as she jams her foot into her imaginary brake. And one can't help but laugh when the choice words of wisdom she offers up to Broman comes out of her diminutive self in such a way that you think there is a large, tattooed sailor in the truck all of a sudden. This ballet of sorts unfolds before me, in all its glory and humor, as I watch from the back seat in terrified amusement. I would like to say I would not give up the time I get to spend with these two as they make me laugh and keep me bemused and amused on the regular. That being said, I did find that the key to a successful road trip type journey with the family is to keep one's pillow fluffed, your head down, your opinions to your self, and your I Pod fully charged.
And so it begins...